


in hearts left behind

by gingersprite



Series: stronger for having been broken [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bedtime Stories, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite
Summary: Some say that Robb Stark was the king who lost the North, but the smallfolk know better.





	in hearts left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Theonsa week day two, prompt: "stories"
> 
> This fic involves an oc _(wait come back....!)_ who's been mentioned in my ongoing fic,["Metal Bones and Wolves' Teeth"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321578/chapters/48180538) but hasn't yet appeared. I hadn't planned on introducing him before I finished that fic, but [Synne](https://if-youll-have-me.tumblr.com) posted such an amazing [idea](https://if-youll-have-me.tumblr.com/post/187028275545/broke-robb-gets-remembered-as-the-king-who-lost) and was kind enough to let me borrow it!

Thom Snow had been at Winterfell for a fortnight now, and Sansa still knew almost nothing about the boy. He was pleasant enough, always polite to Sansa even though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her; he seemed alright with calling Theon ‘Father’, albeit in a dispassionate sort of way, but his relationship with Sansa was harder to define. He was the bastard son of the queen’s Hand and lover, which didn’t lend itself to an easy title. 

She’d told the boy he could call her whatever he felt comfortable with, whether that was Sansa or ‘the queen’. Thom settled on a safe option- m’lady- which Sansa didn’t mind, even though it wasn’t really the proper term. Just so long as he didn’t call her ‘Mother’. While she was technically old enough to be his mother, calling her such would have been strange; she had still been very much a child when he was conceived, despite having recently flowered. Of course, if Cersei had had her way, Sansa would’ve been wedded and bedded to Joffrey by her fourteenth nameday. The very idea made her stomach roil.

They’d put Thom up in a room close to the royal chambers, and encouraged him to make himself comfortable and ask for whatever he needed. Which he never did. Gendry had warned them as much, when they’d told him they were bringing the boy to Winterfell; they just didn’t know what it was like to be a bastard boy, living out of poorhouses and stables. He never asked for anything, for fear of being seen as too needy, and tried to make himself as bland and uninteresting as possible.

He did have one genuine passion, though, and that was animals. Especially horses; he’d seen the simple ponies used by smallfolk and the fancy stallions preferred by nobles, and marveled at them equally. Knowing this, Sansa had been encouraging him to spend time around the stables, where he could brush and pet the horses to his heart’s content, so long as he stayed out from underfoot. 

This was how when a storm took a turn for the worse one night, sending out great cracks of lightning, Theon knew to look for him in the stables. Pearl followed close, as she had grown particularly fond of their newest pack member, and was quick to lead him to the stall farthest from the door. He found Thom huddled in the corner of the stall behind a massive charger, whose docile nature belied his great size. The boy’s small frame quaked with every boom of thunder, utterly terrified. Theon tried coaxing the frightened child out with soft words, and when that failed resorted to picking him up and carrying him back into the Keep.

Once inside, Sansa had to resist from fussing over the both of them, each sopping wet and shivering. Pearl gave a mighty shake and sent water flying all over them; such a sight normally would have made the little boy laugh, but he seemed too frightened to enjoy the direwolf’s antics. They took Thom back up to their chambers rather than his own room; judging by the contented little sigh he made when they entered, he was much happier there than by himself.

Pearl immediately trotted over to the hearth and stretched out, the air quickly becoming ripe with the scent of damp wolf. Sansa sent a maid to bring Thom fresh night clothes and put the kettle on for tea, while Theon toweled himself and Thom off and changed his own clothes. Then Sansa attempted to get Pearl to make some room in front of the hearth for the rest of them. One big blue eye opened just enough to glare at her, but eventually Pearl acquiesced and moved over. After all they were all dried and changed, the three of them settled in front of the hearth wrapped in soft furs, in an odd, but companionable silence. Thom leaned back against Pearl’s side, apparently immune to the stink of her damp fur.

The storm raged on, the lightning so close that every bolt lit up the windows. Even dry and warmed up, Thom was still spooked, his tiny fingers clenched so tightly around his cup of tea they turned white. Sansa sought to come up with a distraction; when she was little and scared by storms, Robb and Jon would pile under the covers with her and Arya and Bran, and tell stories to take their minds off their fear. Theon had even joined them once or twice shortly after he came to live with them, but later scoffed and called them cowardly babes. He didn’t do that now; he was well-acquainted with fears, and with being judged for them.

“Do you like stories, Thom?” she asked kindly. 

He shrugged. “Aye, m’lady, but I don’t know many.”

“That’s no matter, we know plenty,” Sansa said brightly, and Theon nodded, both of them thinking through all the many stories they’d heard as children. “Would you like to hear about Durran Godsgrief, who married Elenei the mermaid?”

The legend of the first Storm King, whose beloved protected him from her godly parents’ rage at their union, seemed a good one to help the boy conquer his fear of the storm. It had been one of Sansa’s favorites as a girl, second only to the story of Florian and Jonquil. Now that she was older, though, she’d come to feel a certain kinship with Jenny of Oldstones, the mysterious girl who so enchanted the Prince of Dragonflies; but that story seemed far too sad for her current purpose.

“Can I hear about the king under the mountain?” Thom asked hesitantly. Sansa and Theon shared a look of surprise over his head, as it was highly unusual for the boy to ask for something rather than just try to appease them.

“I don’t actually know that one.” Theon admitted. Judging by Sansa’s own expression, neither did she. Thom’s face was incredulous.

“You don’t know that one?” he exclaimed. “But… it’s the _king_ under the _mountain!_”

Sansa laughed at that. “Well, why don’t you tell us? Then we’ll know it.” Thom’s earlier boldness fled then, and he grew shy again. Theon gently knocked his knee against the boy’s leg, and gave him an encouraging smile.

“Well, ‘m not sure I remember it all,” he started off hesitantly. “But it’s about a Northern king, with a great big sword, and a giant wolf. An’ he was the greatest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms, and he rode the wolf into battle, too.”

“What battles did he fight in?” Sansa asked.

“I dunno the names, but he fought a lot,” Thom explained. He continued on, his child’s voice high and reedy, but slowly growing with confidence the more he spoke. “An evil queen stole his little sisters, and he was trying to rescue them. But then this greedy old lord betrayed him, and had all the king’s men killed. And it was real awful, ’coz he promised they could stay in his castle where they’d be safe, but he lied to them. They even thought they killed the king, but his wolf saved him and carried him out into the mountains.

“Well, that made the gods really, really angry- um, at what the lord did, not the wolf. Coz guests are supposed to be safe. So they sent the Children to help, and they used their magic to heal the king, and then they took the bodies of his men out from under the old lord’s nose, and brought them back to life. But something like that takes a lot of magic, and the old gods always want something in return. 

“So the king made them a deal: he offered them his service, and in return the gods would make sure his sisters got home safely. That wasn’t enough, so his men all pledged the same. The gods agreed, and the Children took them to a great hall they built under a mountain, and they put the king and his wolf and all his men into a magical sleep.”

Sansa and Theon stared at Thom slack-jawed, their eyes brimming with tears. To a child, it seemed just a story, something to bolster their spirits and fuel their imaginations. But even with all of the fantastical elements, it was obvious who had inspired the story.

“W-where did you hear that?” Sansa stammered, struggling not to cry. Thom looked at them both with alarm.

“I-I’m sorry m’lady, m’lord, I shouldn’t have-”

Theon shook his head and put a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him; if he saw how his father’s hands shook, Thom didn’t say.

“It’s alright, you did nothing wrong.” Theon rasped; Sansa gave a thin-lipped smile in agreement.

“Well…” Thom hedged. “I think I first heard it when I was working for this innkeep? It was after- after Mama got sick. A lot of people came in n’ out, and they all liked to tell stories. Someone tried to tell the story, but he got it wrong: he said the king died, and we was all doomed. But the other people all told him the truth, about the Children and the king’s deal with the old gods. And… that’s all I know.”

“It’s a good story,” Sansa offered. Though there was a slight crack in her voice, Thom beamed. “But the ending sounds like it’s missing something. How long do the king and his men have to sleep?”

Thom opened his mouth to respond, but paused, and closed it with a frown. His little brow furrowed as he thought, but nothing came to mind and he gave a small, defeated shrug. 

Theon had to clear his throat, but when he spoke his voice was clear and steady.

“Until they’re needed,” he suggested. “When there’s no one left to defend the North. The hour of its greatest peril.” Thom nodded emphatically, clearly satisfied by this answer.

“Yes! They would have come when the wights attacked, but the North already had its defenders, so it wasn’t _really_ the greatest pearl- ah, pear-ul.” Pearl snuffled at the sound of her name; Thom quieted her with a pat to her haunches.

“That makes sense,” Theon praised. “Now, what about the king’s men? Who were they?”

“Certainly the Smalljon Umber and Ser Wendel Manderly, and Robin Flint,” Sansa said, thinking of all of Robb’s companions who had died trying to save him. “And I know you said ‘men’, but surely the Young She-Bear would be at her king’s side.”

Dacey Mormont had always been Arya’s favorite of Robb’s age mates; for a while, she’d been convinced that Dacey and Robb would be married. Young Sansa had glowered at the thought, wanting a goodsister who was a graceful, proper lady, not at all the sort of woman Arya would idolize. 

She’d take it back now, if it would make a difference. There were a great many things she wished she could undo.

“Torrhen and Ned Karstark, as well.” Theon added. For a moment Sansa was confused, as the Karstark brothers had definitely died at the Whispering Wood, a battle Theon had fought in. Then, she realized what Theon was doing: in the story, all those who died had been revived and were merely sleeping. By being included in the story, they were effectively granted immortality.

“Alys must be there as well, she would never leave her brothers,” said Sansa, and Theon nodded in agreement, swallowing hard. He’d seen Alys Karstark die with his own eyes, in the godswood: she had been one of the last ones to fall defending Bran, just as fierce a fighter as any man. If anyone deserved the honor of resting at Robb’s side, it was her.

“I thought you said you didn’t know this story!” Thom complained.

“I’d heard the wrong version, like that man at the inn,” Sansa covered. “But clearly this one is superior, especially the way you tell it. You must make sure all your age mates know the proper story.”

“Would they not know it?” he asked.

“Perhaps not,” Theon said. “Not everyone has travelled and heard as many stories as you have.”

That seemed to mollify Thom and he nodded vigorously, promising to do just that; he was already taking this new duty very seriously. Sansa encouraged him to finish his tea, and while he did so she gripped Theon’s hand as tight as she dared. He squeezed her hand back just as intensely.

Thom was still rather skittish about being hugged or cuddled, so they made up a spot on the settee for him rather than have him sleep in their bed. Neither of them felt comfortable taking him back to his own room now, even though the thunder had lessened. With the storm moving further away and Pearl curled up on the ground right next to him, Thom was able to fall asleep. When Theon and Sansa went to their own bed, they ended up curled tightly around each other.

Theon was shaking, more intensely now that Thom wasn’t there to see it. Sansa held him, her hands gripping the fabric of his nightshirt, her body pressed against his so firmly that his tremors seemed to reverberate into her. This embrace felt like it was the only thing holding them both together.

“I like that story.” Sansa whispered in his ear. 

“So do I,” he answered. “I-I think Robb would have liked it too.” Sansa smiled at the thought, of her valiant, kind brother, and finally let herself cry.

“I hope Thom tells it to his children and grandchildren,” she said through her tears. “I hope all Northmen come to know of Robb Stark, the king under the mountain.”

“They will,” Theon assured her. “He’s their hero. And in the songs, heroes never die. They just sleep.”

She thought of that phrase Arya was so fond of saying, muttered under her breath like a prayer: ‘not today’. Death would never come for those like Robb, so long as their stories continued to comfort smallfolk and inspire children.

Not death: just sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a legendary king sleeping under a mountain until the hour of his people's greatest need is a staple of folklore around the world, some of the most famous being King Arthur of Britain and Owain Glyndŵr of Wales. If you aren't already familiar with this trope, check it out, it's really cool!
> 
> Title paraphrased from Scottish poet Thomas Campbell; "To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."


End file.
